


Sniper Skills

by cloudy_skies_golden_eyes



Series: The bliss of normality (A.K.A. team Voltron have some problems they need to resolve) [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Battle Scenes, Bayards, Blue Paladin Lance (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Eventual Happy Ending, Found Family, Friendship, Galaxy Garrison, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Happy Ending, Healing, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It Gets Better Project, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Lance blames himself for a lot, Lance is really good at shooting, Lance learns how to shoot a gun, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Minor Character Death, Minor Keith/Lance (Voltron), Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, One Shot, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Outer Space, Overwhelmed, Pain, Paintball, Panic Attacks, Red Paladin Keith (Voltron), Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, School, Self-Destruction, Snipers, Sparring, Suicide, Teenagers, Therapy, Water, Why Did I Write This?, but dont worry he doesnt rule the story, but its very short, except for the klance, kind of, long sword, not really but, or mentions of, pretty much?, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23821165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudy_skies_golden_eyes/pseuds/cloudy_skies_golden_eyes
Summary: So, how did Lance get his sniper skills?"The boy with the golden skin shines. He hits the target every time, and he knows his supervisors notice him.He’s good at it, and he thinks he loves it."
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: The bliss of normality (A.K.A. team Voltron have some problems they need to resolve) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1178441
Comments: 3
Kudos: 100





	Sniper Skills

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Mentioned suicide and character death, self-hatred, panic attacks, kind of, fight scenes and multiple scenes depicting the use of guns.

**1.**

A family play paintball. Their infectious smiles spread throughout the large group as they run about the backyard of their small Cuban home. The sound of crunching ground mixes with the giggles of the young children, desperately trying to hide from their older siblings and failing relentlessly. The extravagant teenagers take it to the extreme, as always, by climbing on top of the roof for leverage, seeking out each of their opponents with a sharp eye.

In this group lies a younger boy, with golden skin and a sky of freckles adorning his youthful face. He isn’t as old as the others, not by a stretch, but he is just as daring. The boy leaps from a water tank and clutches onto the roof by only an inch, but he makes it. The loud ‘twang!’ that follows immediately gives away his position, and lands him showered in an array of multicoloured paintballs, but his joy overtakes the embarrassment he feels as he desperately avoids the missiles.

In his hands, like everyone else, he holds a small paintball gun, one they bought from the shop on discount. It would probably crumble under the slightest amount of pressure, but it was a gun nonetheless. He shoots at his remaining family like a natural, with a surprising amount of accuracy, but he won’t recall this until years later. He is, after all, a child.

**2.**

A pair of twins play with nerf guns. A boy with tussled brown hair and a girl with more energy than her brother. They tumble and turn in the Cuban house, slamming doors in playful ferocity. The sound of foam bullets echoes throughout the house, along with their hiccupping laughter. Bullets are disposed of in their rush, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake until the two reach their final bullets. Showdown. The two enter the long, spacing hallway. The boy stands where he is, while the girl runs to the end of the hallway. Game on. They line up their shots, decide that whoever hits who first wins. The twins, both as competitive as each other, grin in the lines of their shots. The boy adjusts his Nerf gun slightly as his sister adjusts her position. They say “One, two, three!”, and on the count of three, take their shots.

The girl’s bullet rebounds off a door handle, her shot slightly miscalculated in her youth. The boy, however, hits right above his sisters’ heart, and as he leaps into the air no one considers just how good a shot he had made.

Victorious cries mix with the sounds of a real gun, ricocheting in the distance. Their mother calls them in to prepare for dinner.

**3.**

A young boy. Alone this time, he throws a ball into the netball ring looming above him. He shoots. He scores. The ball lands back onto the ground and bounces into his hands once again, scratching his calloused palms with white paint long dirtied.

The court he stands on is in a local park near his school, which he visits sometimes. It is a concrete half-court, with a netball ring and a basketball hoop at opposite sides of each other. Always competing. He could use the basketball ring. He should. He couldn’t imagine what some of the other boys in the neighbourhood would say if they saw him at the ‘wrong’ end of the court, playing a ‘ _girls’_ sport. But alas, he chooses to shoot into the netball ring, it was always more difficult. At least, it used to be.

The sun begins to descend, and he sets off home.

**4.**

Two boys sit together in class, boredly staring at the clock _tick, tick, ticking_ away on the wall. They’re in English class, talking about a _book_ , of all things. But it’s the end of the day, and the boys are tired. One of them, blue eyed and with hair the colour of lemon sherbet, quietly rips a piece of paper from his workbook, scrunches it up, and ditches it in the direction of the small trashcan at the back of the classroom. He misses, and can feel his friends smirk without even looking at the other boy with the brown hair and golden skin. The blonde boy tries again. He misses. Soon, his friend joins in, except, admirably, he lands the throw. And again. And again. The boys spend the rest of their lesson amusing themselves, and, admittedly, it’s a miracle the teacher doesn’t notice.

As the end of the day reaches nearer, there is a small pile of rolled up paper surrounding the ground near the bin, and the two boys have considerably fewer pages in their notebooks. The boy with the golden skin goes to throw his paper for a last time, but, just as he shoots for the goal, he is spooked by the bell. For the first time during the lesson, he misses.

The snickers of the blonde boy ring in time with the end of the school bell, and the class shoots away from their seats.

**5.**

A group of teenagers standing with a single slingshot shared between them, shooting rocks onto the Garrison roof. Its nearly summer, and they’re all getting rowdy, craving home. Craving rest.

The rocks clatter as they reach the roof, though most of them fall short in their ascent, dropping back onto the dusty dirty ground to be used once again. There’s more of them now, than before, and the brown-haired boy stands right in the fray. The other boys continue to miss the roof, but the brown-haired boy reaches it every time. None one notices, except the sherbet haired boy, who stands to the back of the group.

The stars call them all.

**6.**

A boy stands among the fallen leaves of autumn, a small gun held in his trembling hands. His father stands next to him, patronising, but kind. It is his time to learn.

He stands still among the trees, towering above him in a seemingly endless pattern. He is glad his father stands next to him, for the boy would be lost in the forest if he were not. They are shooting animals, or, at least, they’re meant to be. As they line up their shots, the boy cannot help but feel mildly guilty for the act he is about to commit.

His father does not feel the same way.

The boy, in his innocence, adjusts his position, and the leaves crackle underfoot. His father takes a shot, but it is too late. They are all gone.

The boy can’t help but heave a sigh of relief. Next time, however, he will not make such a rookie mistake.

They have vegetable soup for dinner that night.

**7.**

A teenager, alone again in his newly renovated bedroom, stares at the screen of his console. The light shines under his bedroom door and into the otherwise silent house. It is the middle of the night, but the boy can’t help it. He remains awake.

He plays with another teenager, codename: Red, and while his teammate chooses to fight with a sword, the boy with the golden hair chooses a gun. The two play brilliantly together, like they’re meant to be, always having each other’s backs. Red slashes violently at his targets, while the boy, - _Blue,_ he decides, coincidentally enough – carefully takes out the further opponents with his rifle.

It’s his first taste of real action, despite being a video game. The boy realises, after the first night of falling asleep at 6am, that he enjoys it.

**8.**

A teenager, gun in hand, shooting at distant Garrison targets. He stands in a row with the other students. His best friend stands beside him, grinning ear to ear, and although he isn’t the best, he improves every day.

The boy with the golden skin shines. He hits the target every time, and he knows his supervisors notice him.

He’s _good_ at it, and he thinks he loves it.

**9.**

The boy sits on his bed, head in his hands, as he stares at the ground in disbelief. _He can’t breathe_.

Because the boy with the sherbet lemon hair is gone. The brown-haired boy was too late, he’s lost his yellow, and is lost without him.

They say when you lose someone, its like an out-of-body experience. Everything drifts away until all you see is a third person perspective. But, as the boy stares at the fading strands of the carpet, he thinks the opposite. Its all too much, too heavy.

Too _real._

And yet, the boy keeps expecting to see him, despite the gaping knowledge in his heart that he never will again. He is surrounded by the memories of his best friend, who he couldn’t even love enough to keep _alive_ and _happy_. Because he was too damn _selfish_ to see through the façade of his joy and see the real suffering below.

And when it all catches up to him, _really_ catches up to the boy, because he thought it was too real before but it isn’t until it finally _clicks_ in place that he truly understands the absolute feeling of being torn apart, day by day.

And he wishes, - selfishly of course, because what else, _right?_ – that time might just… stop.

But it doesn’t.

The world keeps on spinning.

And everyone else keeps living.

Even though the boy feels like he’s drowning, with nothing left to live for.

He always did have an affinity for the crashing waves of the water, he just didn’t think it would be the thing to take him away.

_God_ , how hadn’t he seen the signs.

As the boy trembles in bed, sweat soaking his t-shirt and the reminiscent _bang_ and _thump_ echoing in his mind, he vows to himself never to touch a gun again.

The next morning, his family pretend not to see the seemingly permanent tear tracks lining his face and the hardened look in his eyes.

**10.**

A teenager, lost in space. He survived, with a lot of self-hatred, and a lot of guilt, and even more therapy.

And he kept his vow, for years.

Until now.

His breath catches as his eyes land upon the sniper Bayard he holds in his hands. It could have been anything. Anything but _this_. Those around him, - the short gremlin, the man with the cybernetic arm and walls behind his eyes, the Samoan boy with the bandana and the biggest heart he’s ever known, the two aliens, and, of course, his greatest rival, mullet man - stare at the Bayard’s in wonder.

But the boy wants nothing else but to run.

But he cannot run. Because he is _here_. Stuck in the middle of space. There is no netball ring here. No basketball ring, either, only an expanse of white flooring and drones and the dark depths of the unknown.

The boy hides behind his own indignant mask, and he thinks he is beginning to understand where the black paladin littered with scars is coming from.

It’s so much easier this way.

**11.**

A teenager, cowering against the wall, cradling his head in his arms to slow his rapid panic, the deactivated Bayard lying across from him.

He had attempted to train. To get it over and done with, figuring that, if he got over the hard levels now, it would be easier in the future?

The minute he unlocked his Bayard and heard the countdown for the fight he knew he was wrong. He wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the team had heard his screams for the simulation to deactivate, as all of the memories he had tried so hard to repress for year came flooding back in.

Days later, he would try again, aware of the weight on his shoulders as he realises that it is up to his team to save the world.

This isn’t just about him anymore.

The boy takes his sniper with shaking hands and sets the practice mode to level one. As the countdown sounds, he levels his head and focuses on the sound of his own breathing.

It begins.

**12.**

A boy in training. Bullets riddle their way into the dozens of drones buzzing around him, in hope of an attack. As they drop to the glistening white of the gym floor, he can’t help but feel a bit proud. He doesn’t enjoy it like he used to, no, and he still feels guilty for breaking what is essentially his promise to a dead man, but he’s getting the hang of it again.

Even amongst the chaos, he’s finding himself.

As he trains, the red paladin walks into the gym, and, after a brief moment of silent looks which convey all that is needed, the two begin sparring together against the drones. They move with practised ease, and the boy thinks the whole situation is oddly familiar.

He just can’t remember why.

Soon, they finish the bots off, and training finishes. The red paladin whoops in joy, and spurs forward to latch onto his partner in victory.

**13.**

A teenager, fast approaching adulthood, finally out in the battlefield. He attacks the enemy from the ground, this time, and hopes it isn’t obvious that his focus is not so much on taking down the aliens attacking their lions, but rather on keeping the ever-present fear in his mind at bay, and the tremble in his hands minimal enough to keep on hitting his targets.

He just hopes the rest of the team doesn’t notice, though he doubts they will, being just as held up as the boy himself.

As he teams up with the red paladin, going back to back, he finally realises why their fighting style is so familiar, and he laughs at how he didn’t figure it out earlier.

**14.**

A man. His Bayard transforms from the familiar sniper to a long-sword, that of King Alfor of Altea, and he can’t say that he is surprised.

He needed his sniper; the man can see that now. He needed to learn to grow, to love, to live, to _be_ , but that doesn’t mean he isn’t so relieved he could break.

He’s found his yellow again, he thinks. And his red, and his green, and his black. They were there next to him the whole time; he just hadn’t realised it yet. The lemon-haired boy will always remain a part of him, but this group of people, this found family, are more important to him than he ever thought they would be.

It gets better, so much better, he realises.

He’s made his peace.

And, finally, Lance can breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading. I'm very sure I got most of the stuff about guns wrong in this, so sorry about that. Feel free to leave Kudos or any comments :)


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